


Theft, Arguments and Kissing on the Ceiling

by knightcommanderalenko



Series: Love Sucks: A Post-Curse of Strahd AU [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Impulsive Kiss, Light Angst, Post-Curse of Strahd, Spider-Man Kiss, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampires, asshole characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 12:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcommanderalenko/pseuds/knightcommanderalenko
Summary: Saoirse spends her days harassing her companion, Doctor Morgan Faulst, the new Lord of Barovia, by stealing his belongings. After the seemingly millionth time, he confronts her, an argument is had, they try to out-do each other with cool new powers, then he's walking on the ceiling and they're making out while he's upside down. You know, the usual when your party is made of assholes.





	Theft, Arguments and Kissing on the Ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my best friend for all of her support (and all of her love for Saoirse), and my boyfriend for letting me write about Morgan, whom I both hate and love at the same time. A bit like Saoirse does, actually.
> 
> Written for OC Kiss Week 2018 on Tumblr.

If someone had told her a month ago that entering Barovia with her brother on his fool-errand of ridding the world of undead was a bad idea, she absolutely would have agreed with them. As it turned out, she was absolutely right, yet when she’d entered the gods-forsaken demiplane she had no idea how right she was going to become.

First of all, in the short space of only a few weeks, her brother had died multiple times. The only reason he was still standing at all was due the begrudging actions of their party doctor who brought him back from both the brink and from death itself. Secondly was the small percentage of the local population that had been obsessed with biting her. First was the local werewolf population. How she’d survived that without contracting their curse was beyond her. And secondly, and perhaps most importantly, Strahd von Zarovich himself. Out of all the members of her motley group of idiots, he just had to go for the only woman that wasn’t half-tree, didn’t he? After learning what had happened to the late Admiral - their glorious and short-lived paladin of Pelor turned-oathbreaker vampire spawn - Saoirse put two and two together as to Strahd’s new plan. She’d been his next target to turn into a vampire and let loose on the party. In a way, she would have been interested to know just how that plan would have turned out. Certainly seemed more interesting than what she was currently doing.

And yet it was not the multiple deaths of Arrimal Amakiir, or the Barovian population obsessed with biting her that had Saoirse the most annoyed, angry and disgruntled. It was, instead, the one member of the party even more up his own ass than she was hers; the one and only Morgan Faulst, their lovely doctor, and new ‘Lord of Barovia.’

Alarm bells should have rang the moment she met him, a lone figure in an empty creepy house, dressed entirely in black leather, with a white mask in the shape of a bird’s beak. He’d introduced himself as Doctor Morgan Faulst, and said that he was in Barovia researching vampirism. None of that was a lie, and yet it wasn’t the whole truth either. He certainly was in Barovia to research vamparism, yet it was only because he was a man with daddy issues - arguable somewhat justified ones - who wanted to get back at his vampire father the only way he could think of - by becoming a full-blooded vampire himself.

And as if this wasn’t bad enough, underneath all that leather and that ridiculous mask happened to be an extremely attractive man. Morgan was tall and fair-haired, with deep red eyes, sharp facial features and skin that was whiter than snow. Yet, perhaps the most enchanting out of all of his features was his voice. It reminded her of rich velvet that dripped as easily with charm as it did with snide remarks. And knowing him, it was probably this feature that kept him alive for over two hundred years.

Funnily enough, it had only been when Morgan was ‘ascending’ - as he later called it - that Saoirse saw his face for the first time. Considering that his ‘ascension’ consisted of him pulling his ridiculous mask off, ripping out the throat of one of his charmed lackeys with his own small fangs, and then immediately dying to the vengeful hands of Strahd’s most loyal servant, the fact that she’d still thought he was handsome in the middle of the blood of at least three separate people was evidence to her own personal issues.

Out of everything, a handsome, conceited yet somehow otherwise charming vampire lord was not what she needed in her life. But it was exactly what she wanted. There were so many things that she’d want to do to him that ranged from outright murder to using that stupid throne in Ravenloft as a place to fuck him senseless. Sometimes simultaneously. Yet before coming to Barovia, she wouldn’t have thought it possible to be so angry with someone that instead of planning a murder, you planned an encounter of an entirely different kind. But because she couldn’t do either of those two things for a number of different reasons, Saoirse found that the most amusing way to take out her frustrations upon him was by stealing his belongings and waiting for him to realize. This latest ‘acquisition’ was something that had originally belonged to her - a bundle of deeds to various swathes of Barovian land - that she’d given him after they’d collectively killed the previous one. Every time she’d stolen from him, Morgan had personally come and requested that she give the items back. Every time she stole from him, the more snide his requests became.

And as if he was part of a stage play, the door to her quarters slammed open as Morgan stormed in, appearing right on cue.

“Did you want something?” Saoirse asked sarcastically. “I’m sure that I can help with whatever you want.”

Morgan stood before her, seeming to be a tower of black leather and white skin, looking visibly irritated. “Saoirse, my dear assassin, as much fun as your childish games of hide and seek with my possessions can be, the Lord of Barovia would greatly appreciate the deeds to his land back,” he said with a self-entitled smile. “Now, I’m willing to give you a rather lovely gift basket to your cozy little mountain, if you would kindly give them back to me.”

A white pupilless gaze met a blood red one, and Saoirse stood her ground. While Morgan was significantly larger and stronger than she, there hadn’t been a time in their partnership, for lack of a better word, where he’d legitimately frightened her. He certainly wasn’t harmless, but there wasn’t much that he could do to her if she didn’t want him to. And there wasn’t a lot that she didn’t want him to do.  
  
“First of all, my dear Morgan, I was simply taking back what was already mine, as I’m sure you recall that it was I who found the deeds,” Saoirse replied with as much indifference as she could muster. “And secondly, any attempt you make to take them from me without my consent will be completely and utterly useless.” To demonstrate her point, she focused her will and within a second had phased into the Border Ethereal. While she could still see Morgan from this plane, and he her, her physical form ceased to be where it once was. Thus, she held up the now-ethereal bundle of papers in front of his face, taunting him, before simply walking through him and the wall behind, where she vanished from sight.

A few seconds after she returned to her corporeal form, Saoirse heard the door to her quarters close. While she had definitely expected Morgan to follow her out for another confrontation, she hadn’t expected him to do so while walking along the ceiling. His long white hair hung down like a tail behind his head, and he had small crinkles around his red eyes that betrayed his amusement, regardless of his antagonistic words and posture.

“What an inspired act, Saoirse,” Morgan responded scathingly, “but such tricks mean little to someone like me.”

It wasn’t often that they were at eye level to each other, as usually the top of Saoirse’s head barely reached his nose, yet this vantage point offered her a unique perspective on both his face, considering it was much closer to hers than it usually was, and on their not outwardly hostile but certainly antagonistic relationship to each other. Despite what her actions would suggest, Saoirse held a deep-seated respect for Morgan and his talents and accomplishments, and also found him fairly likable on the extremely rare occasion that he wasn’t being an asshole. His face also helped his case more than she would admit.

While staring at him this close, in an act that surprised even herself, she reached upwards, and instead of responding to his petty taunts with petty taunts of her own, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in for a kiss. She felt Morgan freeze. His whole body went tensed, and after a second he exhaled sharply and began to respond. His lips were surprisingly soft against hers, and much warmer than she’d expected from a vampire. While the kiss had been completely impulsive, it had also been tentative… a question… a request for something that Saoirse didn’t have the words or the resolve to say out loud.

She pulled away for a moment, and regarded the upside down face before her. He really was a striking man - with hair that was a shade or two darker than his pale skin, and eyes the same colour as the lifeblood that he took from others. It truly wasn’t fair that he could be such an unpleasant person the majority of the time. Then again, he couldn’t talk back if his mouth was otherwise occupied. With that thought, Saoirse kissed him a second time - this one more forceful than the last. He responded in kind, taking her top lip between his front teeth. Saoirse felt the gentlest prick of his fangs against her lip, and felt him smile beneath her lips as he ran his tongue over the tiny wounds.

Then Saoirse felt gloved fingertips caress her cheekbones in a way that was uncharacteristically gentle, and it threw her completely off guard. She didn’t like being caught unawares, and especially when it came to Morgan Faulst. The bite she’d expected; it was in his nature, after all. But he was not a gentle man. That, more than anything about him, alarmed her the most.

She pulled away instinctively, her hands recoiling from his collar like she’d been burnt. She had to end this here and now, before he could surprise her again.

“While I may not be Lord of Barovia or be able to walk on the ceiling, Morgan, at least I know how to kiss someone.”

Saoirse watched with conflicted emotions as his smile dropped, and was replaced by an expression of complete surprise. With that final parting remark, Saoirse stuffed the bundle of papers into her pocket, before sliding past his upside down form and into the adjacent wall. Not a second later, she heard a loud thud followed by a string of increasingly vulgar words muffled by stone.

Out of everything that happened in the past few minutes, Saoirse hadn’t expected to end up kissing Morgan, let alone while he was still hanging from the ceiling. She also hadn’t expected to feel so damn much about it. After everything that happened to her brother and her in Barovia, she’d tried to shut herself off and embrace her new persona as the ‘Ice Queen of Tsolenka Pass’. Clearly that hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped.


End file.
